Quotes: Manic Pixie Dream Girl

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"She'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain!
She'll make you live her crazy life
but she'll take away your pain,
like a bullet to your brain! (Come on!)"
Ricky Martin, "Livin' La Vida Loca"

Hey street boy, what's your style?
Your dead-end dreams don't make you smile
I'll give ya somethin' to live for
Have ya and grab ya, 'til you're sore!
The Runaways, "Cherry Bomb"

She runs through the night
As if nobody cares
She screams and she cries
And ignores all the stares
She wants me to come
But I'm never going there
Guided By Voices, "Gold Heart Mountaintop Queen Directory"

Like a shooting star he shines.
He said, "Take my hand,
"Live while you can
"Don't you see your dreams lie right in the palm of your hand?"
Vanessa Carlton, "Ordinary Day"

Oh boy, do you ever get bored
Getting all you want and more
What you need is someone like you
Who's gonna blow your pretty world in two
I watch you play around
But that don't bother me
'm not in a rush cos
I can see
That a boy like you
Needs a crazy girl like me.
S Club 7, "Boy Like You"

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

Beware of young girls who come to the door
Wistful and pale, of twenty-and-four
Delivering daisies with delicate hands...

Beware of young girls, too often they crave
To cry at a wedding or dance on a grave...
Dory Previn, "Beware Of Young Girls"

"Now, it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet I'm strangely drawn to you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments."

I'm not a concept. Too many guys think I'm a concept or I complete them or I'm going to make them alive, but I'm just a fucked up girl who is looking for my own peace of mind. Don't assign me yours.
Clementine Kruczynski, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

"Oh, goodness," she said, "what if you do look like an awful lemon? I know you're not really, and I guess if you were always grinning away like I do, we'd just explode when we got together. You stay the way you are, Lije, and keep me from floating away."

And she kept Lije Baley from sinking down.

I was feeling lower than low—hopeless-and suddenly a miracle happened... This girl—she wasn't in the office more than a coupla minutes—tipped me off on this job—and I got it. She was a blonde, pretty, about five-foot-six, big brown eyes—
Dr. Kitchell, not the only man in Bells Are Ringing to whom Ella Peterson happened

SEVERUS MEETS PERKY: Diametrically opposite to [A Woman With A Dark Past], this tour matches everyone’s favorite taciturn Potions Master with a woman so ebullient that tourists may fear that the two will combust when they come in contact. Perky is "short" and "unconventional". She wears robes of eye-jarring shades of pink, yellow, blue, green, or all of them together. Her hair is a "nest of curls" and her face jovial. She wants to share her general state of happiness with the world and, since Perky is woman who "likes a challenge", her most concerted efforts will be directed at the one man in Hogwarts who could be described as unhappiness personified. Severus, in his turn, will be disconcerted by her attempts to break through his "uncommunicative façade", but also unwillingly charmed by her high-spirited tomfoolery. She "brings a breath of fresh air" into his dismal life. We don’t really know what Perky gets from the exchange.
Rugi and Gwena, Tough Guide to Harry Potter

Steve: I just realized, I don't know your name.
Girl: I could tell you my name, but would my name tell you that I'm incapable of seeing the color orange? (takes out an orange) I just have to trust people who give me these. Or that I think moustaches are T-shirts for lips? Or that I wear ice skates to weddings? It's hard to dance. But that's just the type of person I am.
Steve: ... I'm Steve. I'm the kind of guy who drives cross country to take his friend to his old man's funeral, then gives it all up when he finds his Manic Pixie Dream Girl along the way.
Girl: ... Wait a minute, you blew off your grieving friend to hang out in a hot tub with a complete stranger?
American Dad! ("Independent Movie")

Listen to me, EA: not every introvert is longing for the day that Zooey Fucking Deschanel kicks their door down and forcibly drags them to a roller rink!!

The MPDG is Natalie Portman in Garden State, or Zooey Deschanel in, well, anything; the flighty, carefree, and cutely gorgeous (without being sexually threatening), saucer-eyed human-pixie that breezes into your stuffy, empty life on glittered rainbow winds, and gets you to lighten up and love the world – and yourself – by showing it to you through child-like, wonder-coloured glasses. “Let's dance in a thunderstorm! Let's race unicycles! I'm sorry, did my throwing jelly beans at your window wake you up?! C'mon, how about we go and play in a children's ball pit in slow-mo while bland American indie rock crescendos in the background?” This insulting stock cliché is probably the sprinkle-covered semen that birthed the trend of cynically contrived spontaneous joy, with 'impromptu' dances in the street, flash-mob pillow fights, Improv Everywhere videos where people ride the subway in their underwear, or fortunately-photogenic hipsters with signs offering free hugs. I'm all for art and freedom of expression, but this is paint-by-numbers eccentricity, a hollow embracing of nothing that's far more genuinely cynical than someone pushing their way through a mass lightsaber duel where a hundred people are trying very, very hard to show everyone just how carefree they are. The MPDB is a corrupted pantomime dame of the true wizard of ad-libbed wonder, Bill Murray, who achieves everything these hoary, cheap archetypes are aiming for — in pure Venkman style — without even trying.
Stuart Millard, Smoke and Mirrors & Steven Seagal

Enter Natalie Portman.

Natalie Portman's character claims to be a human being but is actually a genie that exists entirely within the mind of Zach Braff's dreaming penis...She tap-dances. She lies, puckishly. She emcees somber hamster funerals. She introduces strangers to her blankie. She figure-skates in a crushed-velvet alligator costume. She wears an epilepsy helmet just long enough to facilitate a wise and bittersweet moment and then never wears it again. She walks over to her record player and opens the lid but doesn't put a record on just to make VERY SURE you know she has one.

As always, the Emmys were a snore-filled snooze fest last night, but luckily there was a brightly shining stoned star who guided us safely through that never-ending mess. The second Sarah "Human Cloud of Weed Smoke" Silverman arrived, I knew everything was going to be alright. First she sashayed onto the red carpet looking like a sedated avocado with her tits out, which is always the look...Thankfully, that wasn’t the last we saw of a high-as-hell Sarah Silverman. She came back a little while later when she won the award for Outstanding Writing for a Variety Special, which she accepted by running to the stage barefoot, leaping up the stairs like Stoned Jesus, rambling about space and molecules, and thanking her boyfriend 'Mr. Fancy Pants Sheen' (Michael Sheen). Afterwards in the press room, some adorable innocent naive cherub asked Sarah if had smoked weed before the show (aw, stay sweet, you). She answered that she likes to 'have a puff as a treat, at appropriate times' (which I guess is the 'Bitch I might be' for more formal occasions), but really, did she even need to answer? Bitch was barefoot! That’s all the answer you need.
Michael K., "Sarah Silverman Was Probably (Read: Definitely) High As Hell At The Emmys"

Oh, all right, let's talk about Jo Grant — the one thing in Doctor Who more glam than Pertwee, more glam than Axos, more glam, perhaps, than glam rock. The thing about Jo Grant is that in the course of trying to create a dumb broad to get captured, Terrance Dicks inadvertently created one of the great feminist icons of Doctor Who... But this is no panicked ball of castration anxiety cursing the vagina dentata. This is an anthem of self-consumption, a man happy to have his spine put out of place by this girl who's total blam-blam... Loved too much to ever be hurt, knowing she can get away with anything, well aware of our gaze, Jo smiles and goes about her business. The Doctor grasps her hand, stares adoringly at his companion, and they run off from whatever monster is chasing them this week, she having the time of her life, he deludedly thinking he's actually in charge here and that he exists for something other than her pleasure.